


Livin In You

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Rockstar, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mental Health Worker Castiel, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Past Abuse, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, rockstar dean winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23440795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Castiel is a mental health worker who is just fine with the way his life is. The only thing that really bugs him is how much his co-worker, and friend, Meg, mentions Dean Winchester, the most famous rock star in the modern age. Meg drags him to a concert, and he ends up getting tied into the wild and angsty life of Dean Winchester. Suddenly his old life seems boring, but so much calmer. Suddenly, it matters to him that he's still a virgin. Suddenly, this rock star that he despised the mention of, now matters to him.Dean Winchester is a rockstar who's on top of the world when it comes to music. Yet there's more that he wants. He misses Lisa and Ben, he craves connection, craves being himself. Any hope for that amidst his alcoholic life all changes when Zachariah, the head exec of Heaven's Records, pairs with a new exec, Michael Edlund -- the Archangel of Music. Under Michael's dominance, he's no longer in control of his own life. There are rules. No more sex with fans. No more alcohol. And in Dean's view, no more god damn free will. Yet he stumbled into Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 39
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If I remember correctly, this is my first AU that I'm posting. I have a few other chapters ready, and was planning on writing the whole thing before posting, but I've just gotten really antsy about sharing this. So yes, definitely an AU. We have MentalHealthWorker!Castiel, and Rockstar!Dean, and Lawyer!Sam. Awesome, right? This is definitely Destiel. Meg is in it, Ellen is mentioned, Ruby is mentioned, Garth is in it, Jess is in it as almost an OC at one quick point. Crowley, Zachariah, and Michael are definitely in it. More characters might show up. Who knows? I've just been having fun with this. Not sure where the ending will be, but things are definitely happening. Hope you enjoy! And the rating is explicit because of topics that eventually come up, the stuff that goes through Dean's head, and at least one eventual sex scene. There is also abuse in this. You can blame more than just the John Winchester mentions on that.

“What is it you need?” Castiel asked, doing his best to put a kind smile on his face, despite it being the beginning of his twelve hour shift that he wasn’t looking forward to.

The patient before him, Jessica, hadn’t gone to bed yet like most of the other patients. She’d been crying in the corner by one of the bay windows, and he’d hoped she’d approach him or someone else. He was the mental health worker assigned to her for the night shift, and he’d let her know earlier that she could come to him if she needed something, and he’d also checked in on her, but it wasn’t his job to be too pushy. It was his job to give her space when she needed it, to get her what she needed when she needed it, along with treating all his other assigned patients just the same.

“One of the other patients said something earlier,” she told him, pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie that was missing its drawstrings, and looking down at her feet. Her face contorted, features drawing down, one all too familiar for Castiel. Pain. “I-I-I… I didn’t want it to bother me, I didn’t think it’d bother me. He didn’t say it about me. He just said it, and-and—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Castiel soothed, getting to the half-door that was locked and kept the patients from the nurse’s station. He unlocked it, and closed it, going out on the floor to be with her. “You seem really distressed. You took your night meds. Hanna gave them to you, right?”

Jessica nodded.

“Okay, do you want something to calm down? I can send a note to the doctor, have him order haldol. It’ll be a few minutes. You can hang out here.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe that’d work.”

“Alright, just stay here.”

Cas went back behind the nurse’s station, keeping an eye on Jessica as she waited at the high counter, wiping at her eyes, clearly fighting with something in her head. He sent the proper information to the doctor on-call, and thank god, he got back the prescription he needed. After a quick talk with Hanna, Jessica was given the medicine with some orange juice, and told of the side effects she might have.

To Castiel’s relief she went off to bed.

Meg slid her chair over to him, brown hair swishing over her shoulders, teasing smile on her face. Or perhaps that was just her normal smile. It was there even when she wasn’t making fun of him.

“Saving a poor, innocent soul, Castiel. You’re an angel.”

“Not an angel. It’s my job.”

He swiveled in his chair.

There weren’t many other mental health workers that were working the shift, and it was dark on the floor, the halls cast in shadows, the nurse’s station lit with an eerie glow.

“You get any real work done tonight?” he asked, though he could see the papers over by her computer were neatly stacked and looked like they’d already been gone through.

“Screw you. I get work done all the time.”

“Uh huh. You’re too busy telling me Benny’s hot.”

Speaking of, Benny was walking by now with his clipboard and flashlight, making the rounds. He was doing the patients that needed five minute checks instead of fifteen. Jessica was on that list, even after being there for four days. She had it rough.

“What, that nice Louisiana accent? Doesn’t it just sound like sweet, sweet honey to the ears?”

Castiel nodded at Benny as he walked by, though he felt a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. No, he definitely didn’t like him in that way. In fact he didn’t like him at all. They were professional with each other, courteous, nothing more.

Meg knew that.

That’s why she poked.

“So…” Meg began, drawing her seat closer, leaning in, sweet-smelling hair falling onto Castiel’s shoulder, “there’s gonna be a concert.”

Castiel just stared, waiting for her to go on.

“Dean Winchester.”

Cas rolled his eyes so hard he rolled his head too, pulling away from her, and getting back to his computer. He had med requests he needed to file with the on-call doctor.

“You’re obsessed,” he told her, as he shifted through his papers, trying to find the right file so he could input the information into the system. “It’s unhealthy.”

“That’s what I’ve got a therapist for.”

“We all have one,” he shot back, finding the paper and layering it on top. He got to work with the system.

“Look, maybe it’s a coping skill,” she suggested.

“Oh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

They’d had this discussion before. Meg would try to play the card of her obsession being a negative coping skill to combat her daddy issues, which then got her joking about the whole “daddy kink.”

They both knew her words were bullshit. There was a psychology behind humans being interested in celebrities, especially when they lived lives so different from their own. But he was sure she had fun making excuses, giving him a go at some banter that he was really getting fed up with. It was always “Dean Winchester this,” and “Dean Winchester that,” and “oh, look at this photo his manager Crowley posted.”

Castiel wasn’t actually sure why it bothered him so much. He liked listening to differing interests.

Apparently his computer thought it’d be a great time for him to think about it because the system glitched and kicked him out.

Cas sat back with a sigh, and said: “So negative coping skill. For daddy issues, right?”

“Or something.”

“You’re drawing on arbitrary inference,” he muttered, glaring at his screen.

“Or maybe I’m teasing you. Seriously, he’s got good music.”

“Sorry, I prefer classic light rock. To me, modern music is so unimaginative and repetitive.”

Meg drew herself over, leaning on his shoulder, wavy hair cascading down over him. He was sure this PDA broke a hospital guideline somewhere, but Benny was down the adjacent hall out of sight, and the two nurses on duty were in the back having a late dinner. The janitor didn’t pay any mind.

“You haven’t listened to a single one of his songs.”

“You’ve shown me.”

“You didn’t pay attention.”

The system rebooted, and it was requesting Castiel to login again.

“Damned computer,” he growled, resisting the urge to smack the monitor, see if some light persuasion would make the piece of junk work.

Meg shifted off him, letting him try to get back in the system.

“Come on, you’re gonna make a girl go to a concert alone? And there’s a deal on the tickets if you buy two.”

Now he was just sent to the loading screen.

Castiel looked upwards praying to God or whoever up there felt this was necessary, and let out a huge sigh.

“Why do you insist on torturing me?”

“‘Cause you’re cute.”

Castiel shot her a look. They’d been over this before. There’d been some misplaced, confused feelings from him that had led to a heated kiss, but her feelings seemed genuine. Sometimes he worried it’d ruin their friendship. The flirting made him feel awkward, uncomfortable.

“Okay, when’s the concert?”

“Next month.”

“Where?”

“Kansas City.”

Castiel tilted his head inquisitively, insisting she go on.

“Missouri.”

Castiel’s computer finally let him back in, and the appropriate forms came up. All blank though, not even any pre-installed information set in. Perfect.

“Alright,” he relented, though he knew for sure a concert was not his scene. Castiel was the kind of guy who would rather take walks in parks, go out to eat at little-known restaurants, find mindful activities to do. Concerts, let alone a rock concert put on by the insanely famous Dean Winchester, seemed too overwhelming. But he didn’t want Meg going alone. She could handle herself, but as he knew from his job, tragedy was random and went after the tough all too often. “Buy the tickets,” he said.

Meg kissed him on the cheek, thanking him, and then he was allowed to return to his work. Before Castiel could start typing in a patient’s name, Benny came over to the desk with the checks board.

“Your turn, Castiel.”

Holding in a disgruntled sound he accepted it, and left the nurse’s station. Work. Work, that’s what he needed to do, not get upset over some person he didn’t even know.

Castiel breathed in, telling himself, _Mindfulness._

He felt the paper beneath his thumb, smelled the powder used to freshen the carpets as the janitor began laying it out near their area of the floor, and then he studied the first patient’s name.

Back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you all think. The first chapter from Dean's POV will most likely be out next week. I'd love your support! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's introduction! I hope you enjoy. Comments are always welcome. And yeah, I use Jensen's music in this. It was impossible not to. Also, y'all need to listen to "Sounds of Someday," and "Drowning." They're my favorites.
> 
> **WARNING: Abuse mention**

“What if I open with ‘Sounds of Someday,’ and end with ‘Drowning’?” Dean Winchester asked, sipping on a straw as he sat in his manager’s office.

He frowned at the taste of apple juice, stared at the golden liquid.

_Oh why, oh why can’t you be alcohol?_ he asked.

Crowley told him that he wouldn’t work with him if he drank when they did business, so this was the best he got. Crowley, the ever-important manager sat across a desk from Dean, black suit impeccably styled, a mischievous look in his eye. Crowley was a good manager because he was ambitious, and he was a good businessman. He knew what the people liked.

Dean often got into heated arguments with him because as the creator of the music he was sure _he knew_ what his fans liked. Finding a compromise usually involved late nights that turned into some sort of drunken madness. Dean didn’t dwell on the times he’d woken up in his manager’s bed missing his pants. Good times were good times, and whatever got the compromise for his art.

Besides, Crowley really wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.

But that look, that look he was giving him now saying that he disapproved while also surely telling Dean without words that he’d lost a few brain cells.

“Are you drinking?” he asked.

“Assistant got me apple juice.”

“Then” — Crowley stood, planting his fists on the desk, and Dean clenched his jaw, knowing what was coming — “why did you make such an idiot suggestion, you bollock-headed numpty?!”

Dean grinned, holding up his glass. “I love when you go all Gordon Ramsay on me.”

Crowley just rolled his eyes and came out from behind his desk.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean… My song list works.”

Dean shrugged, tossed the straw onto the desk, and took a long sip from his glass.

“Nope.”

Suddenly his manager was right in his face, hands clasping the arms of the leather chair he sat in.

“And why not?”

Most people would shrink away, or be perturbed at the sudden lack of personal space, at the threatening bite in his British accent, but Dean just worked his bottom lip in thought, meeting his gaze.

“You want me to start with ‘Drowning’? It’s morose. Everyone’s gonna be leaving the stadium four bars in.” Crowley sneered. “Okay, well maybe not four bars, but it doesn’t get people excited. Sounds more like doom coming.”

Crowley leaned back. “And where did you learn words like _morose_?”

“Hey, being a highschool dropout doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I read.”

“You read too much.”

“Why do you like controlling me so much?”

“It’s my job.”

“Or maybe it’s abuse and I’m your little pet prodigy.”

Crowley’s brows lowered, jaw clenching, and Dean shot him a smile. Things got tense between them, but Dean was joking. The abuse in his life didn’t tend to come from Crowley, despite smatterings of toxicity. Nope. That was all his dad, may he rest in peace… or pieces. Depended on what mood Dean was in.

Crowley leaned against the desk, crossing his arms.

“Alright, you have a point about ‘Drowning,’ but revealing ‘Sounds of Someday’ too soon is going to blow the hype. That’s one of your best. You can really only go down or level out from there.”

Dean finished his juice, really wishing it was whiskey, especially because of the late hour, and then fished out his phone.

“Alright. I’ll ask Sam.”

“Still codependent?”

“Still an annoying asswipe?”

“You’re lucky I don’t quit because of that mouth.”

Dean shot his brother a text, asking what song he thought would be appropriate to start the concert with. It was rounding out to 11:00, but his brother was always up at night. Insomnia from the child abuse, though Dean had done his best to shield him from it.

“You like it too much,” Dean replied.

“I’m gonna cut down the venue for that. Give you a bandstand in a park instead.”

“Good luck with that,” he responded, watching as three dots appeared on his phone. Sam was typing.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

Dean had gotten the message and turned his phone around to show Crowley. “We have a verdict.”

“‘Cannonball,’” Crowley read aloud. “Ooh, I like your brother.”

“Hands off, he’s got a girl.”

Crowley said nothing, just gave Dean a strange smile as he went behind his desk once more.

“So we can do ‘Drowning’ as the second to last, and finish with ‘Sounds of Someday,’” Crowley stated.

Dean shrugged, not having a problem with it.

“Sounds good.”

Dean rose, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his seat. As he donned it, Crowley said, “Oh, and keep away from the fans after. Don’t want you in the tabloids like your friend Lee there, and you know late night excursions mess up your recovery routine.”

Dean mock-saluted as he started backing out.

“You got it, sir.”

“Always pleasure doing business with you,” Crowley said.

Dean shot him a finger gun and then he went down to the parking garage, heading for his 1967 Chevy Impala. Sure there was valet parking, but letting a valet in _that baby?_ Ooh boy, they’d have another thing coming if they touched his car.

“Stay away from the fans,” he muttered as he climbed in, feeling the reassuring leather settle against his ass, the familiar creak of the door as it closed. He put the keys in the ignition, reveling in the throaty purr of the engine as it started up. “Stay away from the fans, my ass.”

Dean liked people, and people liked him. He was hot stuff, a lot of his fans were hot stuff. And of age. And consenting.

So what if he had fun? Lisa wasn’t interested in making their relationship work since she wanted to keep Ben out of the public eye, which Dean agreed was a good idea, so he was left to his own devices, and sometimes his hand just wasn’t enough.

He turned on the stereo, tuning it to an 80s rock station, ever his inspiration, and headed out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

“This top, or this one?”

Cas scrolled through Google on his phone, feeling a bit idiotic for what he’d been searching, but so far he’d found nothing that seemed to suit his taste.

“Cas!” Meg interjected.

“Hmm?”

He glanced up, and she was holding up two different shirts. She had said after they figured out her outfit for the concert she would take him shopping and help him with his. For now they were in her living room of her small, ranch-style house, Cas in one of the beat-up, cushioned chairs she had.

He glanced at the clothing, really not sure which one was better.

“You know, just ‘cause I like guys it doesn’t make me your gay best friend.”

“I know.”

“I’m pan.”

“I know!” Meg pouted, holding the clothing out on the hangers. “Come on, which one?”

“Meg, I’m looking up what fashion works for rock concerts on my phone right now, so I’m really not a good judge…” He trailed off, going to images, hoping that would be better than some article.

Meg let out some sort of grumpy sound, set the clothes on the coffee table, and plopped herself down on the arm of the chair.

“We should’ve gotten this figured out a week ago.”

“It’s not like Dean Winchester’s actually going to notice us.”

“A girl can dream. Besides, he’s popular with men too. There might be some hot fans.”

“Go with the silver top then,” Castiel suggested. “Any more black and you’d look like you’re ready to rip someone’s face off.”

“Maybe I would be.”

Castiel grinned, saying, “I have no idea how you got a job as a mental health worker.”

“Because I’m as sweet as a rose, Clarence.” 

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then took his phone from him. Castiel didn’t have anything to hide from her, so he let her do it.

Her eyebrows furrowed in thought as she searched.

“Okay, what about ripped jeans, a Dean Winchester T-shirt, and a leather jacket?”

“Do I have to wear the T-shirt?” Castiel asked, grimacing.

The concert was in a few days, and just the thought of being there was making him flustered and annoyed. He would turn on the radio and there was Dean Winchester, or he’d see posters in shops, and it was Dean Winchester. He’d check the news, and what do you know? Dean Winchester.

Sure, he was a handsome man, but he seemed overrated.

“It’ll just have his name on it,” she assured. “Probably plus the sun and clouds design he’s got going on with his latest album.”

“Exciting,” he said, hoping she noted his sarcasm.

“Look, you’re coming, and you’re gonna look good.”

“Alright,” Castiel relented as she handed him his phone back. She had the exact outfit (minus the T-shirt) open up on his phone, and he supposed he could pull it off.

She clapped his shoulders lovingly. “Besides, not like I can let you out in that suit and coat you like wearing all the time.”

“It’s comfortable to me,” he argued.

“You’d stand out. Horribly.”

“All right, well, let’s go.”

Castiel stood, pocketing his phone, and as he went to the stairwell he saw that Meg was studying the silver shirt.

“You sure this is the right one?” she asked, turning it to him.

“Yeah, you’ll look great.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

Meg smiled, rolling her eyes at him, and then grabbed her purse and they were going.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of abuse, drug use, and alcoholism.**

Sweat rolled down Dean’s back as he crouched down, and then lifted himself back up again, the barbell resting on his shoulders feeling like lead weight after so many reps. Thank god this was the last one. He finished and then Sam, his brother filling in as his spotter since Dean had given his official spotter the day off, took the weights from him and set them on the floor.

Dean grabbed a towel that hung from a rung of one of the exercise machines in front of him and mopped sweat from his face, reaching around to get his back too, not really in the mood for having the waistband of his shorts get soaked.

Next was the treadmill, even though his legs burned slightly from all the workouts. But it was his legs and endurance he needed to work on most before a concert, otherwise he’d drop halfway through.

“So how’s lawyering going?” Dean asked, grabbing his water bottle to take a swig.

Sam, who cut a much more imposing figure than Dean since he stood four inches taller than Dean’s six foot one, and also was muscular seeing as he enjoyed being his workout partner, grabbed his own water bottle, heading over to the treadmills.

“It’s going.”

“Mm, promising.”

“You know I can’t discuss my cases,” Sam said. “I’d be breaking attorney-client privilege. And having a couple days off to spend time with you doesn’t make my license temporarily disappear.”

They each got on the machines, and started at a jog. It was a pace they could keep for awhile while still talking.

“Right, right. Sorry. So uh… I told Crowley you got a girl, so if he asks, just—”

“You did _what?_ ”

Dean pressed some buttons, picking up the pace, wishing they were actually on a track so he could run ahead of Sam, pretend he hadn’t said anything.

“You know he’s interested.”

Sam made a sound of disgust, and then also picked up the pace, seemingly starting some little competition with Dean.

“Trying to keep him away,” Dean reasoned.

“Dean, there hasn’t been anyone since, you know, _her_.”

“How you doin’ with that by the way?”

Sam slowed his treadmill down, and then let it stop. Dean kept going, but he watched his brother lean over, hands on the bars, hair falling in front of his face as he leaned forward.

“Can we not?”

“You’re clean, right?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Still drinking.”

Dean laughed at Sam’s crestfallen look, not sure there was any proper way for him to react. He hadn’t wanted the discussion to turn on him. But at least Sammy was doing good. The last girl had abused him, and gotten him into some nasty stuff. Dean hadn’t known how a girl over a foot shorter than him could do such things, but now he knew not to underestimate anyone. And anyone could get hurt, it seemed. Didn’t matter how strong you were. Dean had met her a few times, and he’d always wanted to punch her in the face. Couldn’t have that in the press though, so he’d held back, even after she’d gotten his brother hooked.

Luckily the two of them had managed to keep everything quiet so Sam wouldn’t get disbarred. Still, he knew his brother constantly felt like he’d crossed a line, and should give up on his firm. But Dean didn’t want him to. His brother helped domestic abuse victims. Hopefully Sam saw the value in that.

“You know there’s rehab, right?” Sam asked.

Dean laughed again. “I don’t need rehab. I’m fine.”

“Alright, well, if you end up drunk and in bed with a stranger this weekend, don’t say I didn’t tell you there was help.”

“I don’t need help. I like gettin’ a little something.”

Sam started up his treadmill again, and Dean wanted to be panting so he didn’t have to talk as much, so he set the pace higher.

“What’s your type anyway?” Sam asked. “Can’t figure it out.”

“Don’t know.” Dean gasped in air, and then went on, “Any girl really.”

“And guys?”

“Tall, dark hair, bright eyes, maybe.”

Sam smiled. “You’ve thought about this.”

“Or tried it. After… After Lisa… I didn’t want to hide myself anymore.”

“Good. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Uh huh.”

Not wanting to discuss this further, still self-conscious about his sexuality even after a couple years, he grabbed his phone and started playing his latest album. He sang along when he had the breath, and Sam, despite not having any skill, sang with him. God, it was good to hang out with his brother. Calmed down his excited energy for the upcoming weekend, but it was still in the back of his head. Dean couldn’t wait to get back on stage again, and despite what Crowley said he was hoping he’d find someone afterwards. He was going to have a good time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yep, I use some of Jensen's songs in this. Thank god I'm not trying to get this published.

Everything was too loud. Castiel had expected that, but mentally picturing it and then being a part of it were two different things. He knew that now, once he was mixed in with a bunch of screaming fans. It didn’t help that he was self-conscious about his outfit — a T-shirt that was too tight, and ripped jeans that were just the same (he’d tried for the leather jacket, but it was too expensive for only wearing it once). Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying great attention to him, even though Meg had mussed up his dark hair.

“You having fun?!” she screamed in his ear after grabbing him and making him lean down.

“Is it supposed to feel like I’m dying?!” he shot back sarcastically.

Dean Winchester was on the stage that had been set up in the stadium, guitar bleeding out music beneath his passionate fingers, and he sang like it might be the last thing he’d ever do. Dean had been keeping up this energy since the first song, and now with this one there were even trumpets and violins involved from the other musicians on stage.

Castiel hated to admit it, but the music was actually good. It borrowed themes from the genre of music he so dearly loved, and it made it new, even made it honest. And real instruments were too good to hear in this day and age.

He lost himself till a song change, and everyone seemed high with ecstatic breathlessness as they waited for the next song.

It took a bit for Castiel to get into it, but soon he could _feel_ the lyrics, and he thought Meg might’ve been singing along next to him. Dean’s voice took over the stadium.

“ _Sometimes I feel, sometimes I feel,_ / _Like I’ve been tied to the whippin’ post!_ / _Tied to the whippin’ post, tied to the whippin’ post!_ / _Good, lord, I feel like I’m dyin’!_ ”

_Wow_ , he was good, but that didn’t mean Castiel was going to give in to all the fuss. From where they were Meg surely couldn’t see him that well (came with being short), but Castiel had a great view.

_This asshole is so full of himself._

Castiel checked himself, knowing there were a few cognitive distortions in his thinking, and really there was no point in being mean.

But how could Dean Winchester not seem full of himself? He smiled, he galavanted around the stage like he owned the world, and he accepted the fans’ praise like it was expected of them.

A modern day rock god.

As Castiel found himself moving his hips to the music, watching the way Dean took off his cowboy hat and threw it into the crowd, he began to wonder a few things. What did so much praise do to your mentality? Was Dean _okay?_

_Stop it. Why does it matter?_

He didn’t like him. No, he didn’t like him. His too-white, straight teeth were annoying, as was his perfectly styled brown hair, and his bright eyes were filled to the brim with narcissism. That’s what it had to be. Or maybe it was delight. And those muscles; annoying. Castiel had muscle too. What made Dean Winchester so special?

Another song started, a cover of “The Joker” and no, no, it was not better than the original.

Ridiculous.

Meg shifted into him, hip jutting hard into his thigh, and he looked down.

“Stop ruining it!” she yelled. Castiel looked at her in alarm, and she practically got on top of him to reach into his ear and yell, “Your face! Stop thinking!”

So Castiel did just that, trying to let the music take him as time passed in an adrenaline-rushed allegro. Still, he bristled with some tension he wasn’t sure he understood.

The pace, the excitement, the tone, shifted, relaxing with the next strums of Dean’s guitar as he started a new song. Phones came out, flashlights getting turned on, and the crowd began to sway back and forth as one. Meg, arm around Castiel’s waist, was doing the same thing, trying to push him into the tempo.

Dean began to sing after long, beautiful chords were held out, his voice earnest, even desperate: “ _Hold the day_ / _Make it through and fall into the light_ / _All the way_ / _A carnival of causes and delight._ ”

The audience seemed as if they were all going to swoon, and Castiel, getting lost in the lyrics, thought maybe he’d have a similar reaction. Or, at least, he felt his heart tugged towards the stage, his body only knowing the music.

But god, it was too hot in here, too sweaty, too full of humanity. And Dean Winchester seemed inhuman to the point of frustration up there on that stage, lights shining down on him.

_Don’t think too much, don’t think, don’t think._

“ _Because we can’t become_ / _Victim of a sum_ / _Cradle our desire_ / _To keep from drowning!_ ”

Drowning. Castiel knew the feeling right now. Everyone pressed in too tight, the flashing lights too much, and he sorely wished he was at home reading a book. Not here, not in this drowning mass of adoration for someone he didn’t even know.

“ _To keep from drowning!_ / _To keep from drowning!_ / _To keep from drowning!_ ”

The music softened.

“ _Hold the day!_ / _Oh, we pray_ / _To make it through the night._ ”

That’s what Castiel had to do, make it through tonight. Then it’d be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I hope you're having fun with it like I am.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains mentions of abuse, and alcoholism, and has some violence.
> 
> There's also a lot of angst.

“ _Though the sounds of someday_ / _May be home!_ / _Though the sounds of someday_ / _May be be home, ay!_ ”

Sweat glistening on his skin, but not ruining the various bronzers that had been put on him, Dean brought his running, and his dancing to a stop, and he stood, blocking out the crowd, just listening to the guitar as he strummed, just waiting for the right moment. His soul seemed like it could fly, and he was on top of the world, and as he took in the breath to finish this song, he knew that he was high on life. It could take him anywhere.

“ _And though the sounds of someday_ / _May be home, ooh!_ ”

Dean let the last notes hang in the air, simply mesmerized with the tune of his own song, with the depth and lightness of his voice.

Finally, he finished the concert, and the fans went wild. Dean came back to himself, beaming, still feeling as though music was pounding through his body.

“Thank you, everybody!” he screamed. “You’ve been a great crowd! Whoo! Kansas City!”

After more moments of adoration, Dean’s handlers were behind the curtain, beckoning him to come off the stage.

He left, body exhausted, but made sure he seemed to have as much energy as he had upon entering the stage.

An assistant took his guitar, and the sounds of the crowd faded as he was led down stairs, and through various halls of the stadium, to a green room.

Dean skipped the water on the table as he passed by, and grabbed a beer.

Sam was waiting for him in the green room, having been allowed in because he was his brother. Crowley was there as well, and unfortunately, so was a man he’d had a few dealings with and rather didn’t like: Zachariah. He was the executive of the record label Dean was contracted with, Heaven’s Records. Usually execs didn’t come out to concerts and they left that business to representatives, so this had to be big.

Great.

He suppressed rolling his eyes, popped the tab on his beer, and took a sip.

“That was excellent!” Crowley told him, standing to embrace him. He pointed to a screen that was in the green room, which was now showing the crowd departing. “Caught the whole thing.”

Dean nodded, then addressed his brother, “Sam, you like it?”

Sammy beamed, and also got up to congratulate him with physical affection, clapping his shoulder. “Hell yeah, man!”

Dean got himself a seat across from the exec, and bluntly asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Just enjoying the show, Dean.”

Another sip of his beer.

“Uh huh.”

Zach gave him an uneasy smile, hands clasped before him, leaning forward. “Look, we want to change your contract. Nothing big. Just add a couple more zeros to the paycheck, and with it you gotta make a music video, along with cooperating in some other areas.”

Dean sighed. “Ain’t music videos more the pop industry type deal?”

“You’ve turned rock into the new pop, Dean.”

“Yep, and what’s the catch? You’re not just gonna give me more money for a single music video.”

“We want you to tour. Europe, UK.”

“But?” he prompted, sensing a _but_.

“But, you have to behave.” Zach stood, taking the beer out of his hands as Dean had been about to drink a great amount of it. He held it up, shaking it. “No more of this.”

“But—”

And now he held out his phone, showing paparazzi photos of Dean making out with a woman on the street. Who was she? Was that that girl Cassie, the one who had a tattoo of his name somewhere, well, interesting?

“No more of this. Crowley’s already told me he’s been working with you on it.”

“What, so I can’t have fun?”

“No,” Zachariah simply stated. “You can’t have fun, Dean. Your kind of fun can lead to mishaps, mistakes, bad press. You’re a label, someone to be marketed. You want to market the bad boy who gets too drunk and punches a reporter?”

“I haven’t done that,” he argued.

“Yet. You want to be the bad boy who sleeps with a fan lying about her age?”

“Or him,” Dean interjected.

“Excuse me?”

Dean stood, getting right in his face. “I’m a person,” Dean yelled. “ A person, you got that? I have vices, and flaws, and wants, and needs.”

“A person, huh?”

Dean glanced around the room, at Sam, at Crowley, eyes big, pleading for help. Sam seemed just as caught off guard and helpless as he was. The best he seemed able to do was to start shouting “objection!” but they both knew he wasn’t going to do that.

“What if I say no?”

“We drop you.”

Dean clenched his jaw, and felt his hands curling into fists. God, was that wall close enough to punch? Soon it didn’t matter because he’d brushed past Zach, and, vision going red, he swept plates of food and bottles of drinks off the table, and then there was a loud noise, numb pressure exploding in his knuckles.

Cheeks flushed, he pulled his hand from the hole in the wall.

“Fuck you!” Dean cried, pointing a finger at him.

“Now, now, Dean, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he asked, getting in his face again. Now Sam was up, arms around Dean to hold him back. Dean didn’t bother fighting him. “Don’t _what?_ ”

“Tantrums will get you nowhere.”

“So I quit drinking just like that?” he asked. “And I don’t see people anymore? No dating?”

“None.”

“What about free time, my established relationships, family? Is Sammy getting swept aside with this deal too, huh?”

“Dean,” Sam intoned, voice soothing in his ear.

“What about Lisa and Ben?”

“We won’t touch them if you do what we say. Look, I don’t like to do this, Dean, pretend you’re not someone, but well… you’re not. Who you are doesn’t matter to us. It’s what you can sell. And we want to sell you off as a worshipful, immaculate being, having you ascend above the rockstar stereotypes. Your popularity will burst through the roof. _So_ , you clean up your act, you stay away from fans, you do as we say, and we won’t have a problem.”

Dean shrugged out of Sam’s grip, and went over to Crowley, pointing an accusing finger. “You knew about this.”

“Dean—”

“You knew,” he breathed, voice low, but gritty with emotion. “You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

“I warned you.”

“Well, nice warning, fuckwad.”

“Dean, I will quit if you keep this up.”

Dean stood back, laughing.

Was this really happening? Where had his freedom gone? He just wanted to make music, wanted to make people happy. He didn’t want any of this bullshit. And why all the changes, and why so soon, so fast?

Zachariah set Dean’s beer bottle down, but Dean ignored it, grabbing another one, and drank as much as he could, feeling liquid dribble down his chin. Oh god, that stuff was good. It wasn’t enough to get him buzzing or even numb though. And was blood dripping down his knuckles? They were starting to swell, right hand red, maybe turning a little purple.

Dean finished off half the bottle, and spluttered through his drink.

“Dean, I think you need to sit down,” Sam said, taking him by the shoulders and attempting to maneuver him to a seat.

“Sammy, can they do this?” he asked.

“Of course I can,” Zachariah said, all self-important and pleased. “Paired with a new exec. Michael Edlund.”

Oh god, Dean had heard of him, the fucking Archangel of Music as celebrity fans liked to call him. The bastard didn’t care about people, just cared about stats, and marketing, and money, and having people act to his every whim. Dean wouldn’t even be surprised if there were sex scandals wrapped up in there, kept hidden away since he was oh so clean and immaculate. 

But maybe the worst for Dean was that Michael forced himself to live through his artists, took them over.

Dean let Sam drag him into a chair at that.

He raised his bottle at Crowley, and Zachariah, smiling. “Well, here’s to fucking up my life. Maybe you own me, but I’m gonna fight tooth and nail the whole time. So I agree to this new, fucking stupid contract. Drop off the papers with my assistant, and I’ll even sign with a god damn golden pen. How’s that? I’ll do what you want, but you better believe I’m gonna test the limit.”

Sam pat a comforting hand against Dean’s chest as he continued drinking, feeling angered, embittered tears built up in his eyes.

_So long, Dean Winchester,_ he thought. _Here’s to life as an angel condom. May you rest in peace, you son of a bitch._

So he wasn’t out of being controlled. His dad, John was probably smiling up from Hell at that.

He’d better have a good seat down there.

Dean wondered if he would too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Who wants to get together and kill Zachariah with me?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet!

Meg had gone to a hotel after the performance, but Castiel wasn’t ready to sleep. He needed to calm down, needed to get his ears to stop ringing. And was his heart beating too fast? Maybe the concert had been a natural high. Or too much stimulation all at once for someone who’d never been to such a thing before.

He shook his head, feeling an ache coming on behind his eyes, and he pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

“Would you like honey with that?”

Castiel breathed in and out evenly, and took his hand away from his face to look at the college-age student working behind the counter at the café he’d stopped at.

“Uh, yes please,” he responded, hoping that it would get rid of the scratchiness in his throat. Besides, honey was good, and Castiel loved bees. Ironic that he’d found a café that was called “The Beehive.”

After paying for his tea, and waiting a few moments, he was given a cup with a cartoon bumble bee on the side, its previous flight path designated with a dotted line coming from the end of its body.

Castiel took a seat by one of the large windows, and sipped at the chai he’d ordered. He breathed deeply, trying to get himself to relax. He felt the hot cup in his fingers, heat radiating down the appendages, even singeing his fingertips a bit.

About to take another sip, Castiel was startled from his reverie, spilling hot tea all over his abdomen and legs as there was a loud crash from outside. It’d sounded like thunder, and then screeching.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Castiel had crushed the cup in his surprise, and hot liquid was also on his hand.

He grabbed a bunch of napkins from the table, trying to hurriedly mop himself up, even as he stood to see what all the noise was. His skin twinged and burned.

“Fuck!” he heard from outside, and then a car door slammed shut.

Oh no, was that Castiel’s car that was rammed into in the back? Had someone seriously ruined his 1978 Lincoln Continental? There was a black car that seemed mostly free of damage, stuck in the end of his car, the metal crushed against the gleaming frame.

“Oh god, sir, do you want me to call 911?” the barista asked, her voice panicked, phone already out.

“Not yet,” Castiel told her, still mopping himself up. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

Wind blowing against the flurry of napkins in his hand, he stepped outside.

And he stopped dead when he saw who was prowling about the two cars, swearing his head off.

 _No, no, no,_ he begged. _No, no, no, no,_ no _._

But no amount of begging and pleading changed whose car that was.

The celebrity ripped off his leather jacket, and threw it through the window of the 1967 Chevy Impala, and then kicked Castiel’s car before starting to try and pry them apart. Metal squealed, but they didn’t budge.

“Uh, sir, that’s my car,” Castiel told him.

“It was in my way!” he yelled. And then he tried to straighten, and swayed.

Dean Winchester met him with hard eyes, but then they soon zoned out, looking slightly to Castiel’s left.

Oh! Oh, he was drunk!

Typical. Of course a celebrity was drunk after a big performance.

“I was parked on the side of the road, you… you… assbutt!” Castiel argued. The tea that had been spilled on his clothes started to chill in the night air, and he stuffed the remaining, and somewhat soggy, napkins, in the pocket of his too-tight jeans.

“Assbutt. Okay. And some side of the road,” he huffed. “Now come on, help me pry ‘em apart.”

Stunned, Castiel got up beside him, and started to push at his car, as Dean Winchester did so with his own. It didn’t escape Castiel’s notice that Dean’s right hand was poorly bandaged with a blue and white bandana.

After a great deal of struggling, nothing happened.

“Great. Just great,” Castiel told him, surveying the scene with lowered brows. Dean had collapsed across the hood of the Impala, seemingly strung out and definitely drunk. “I gotta call the police.”

“No, no, don’t!” Dean urged, righting himself with a lurch. He reached out to Castiel, grabbed him, and Cas just stared, not sure what to do. “You gotta help me, buddy. I can’t have the police here. Then there’ll be paparazzi, press. It’ll be a mess. Please. I’ll… I’ll pay you.” He let go, Castiel squinting at him in befuddlement, and Dean began to go through his pockets. “How much you need for the damage? Or uh, a new car. How much?” He pulled out a wad of cash, and started going through it, fingers clumsy as he counted. “Uh… six thousand? Seven thousand?” He slammed it against Cas’ chest, and he found he had no choice but to accept it. “Here. Here, take it.”

Castiel stepped back, confused as he clutched the money in his hand.

“Is this seriously your life?” he asked. “You just make a mistake and think you can get rid of it with money?”

Dean shrugged, almost fell and sat back against his car. “No.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, hoping the look would prompt him to go on.

“Okay, not most of the time. I just need help.”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.”

“Smooth observation, baby.”

Baby? When had he decided to call him baby? Cas couldn’t decide if that was inappropriate or not.

“Look, I’m a mental health worker,” Castiel told him, slowly approaching. “I can help you get sorted out, at least for the night. You shouldn’t be out here, or on the road.”

“Ha, my brother would say the same thing.”

“Maybe you should listen to him.”

“What about your car?”

Castiel eyed the money, and held it up. “Well, you paid me.” He gave a couple thousand back, too stunned and shocked to even think about how much money he was holding and said, “I only need repairs. This car means something to me.”

“Yeah, mine too.” There was silence as Dean took the money back, and then they stared at each other.

“How come you’re not freaking out?”

“I am.”

“About me, I mean. You know who I am, right?”

“Yeah, you’re Dean Winchester.”

“Oh.”

“And?”

Castiel went around to the driver’s seat of his car, seeing if he could start it up, thinking he could drive it a few feet, get it out of this bit of wreckage.

That idea worked, once he signaled for Dean to get out of the way, and the drunk rockstar finally realized it.

“Now what?” Dean asked.

Castiel was shocked that he was the one supposed to be taking the lead here, but Dean stood with his arms crossed, looking towards Cas. How had he suddenly gotten authority?

“We could go our separate ways,” Cas suggested.

“You said something about helping… about helping this.” Dean pressed at his head like he himself was the problem.

It was Dean, per se. Alcoholism was a mental disorder, but aside from sobering him up, he couldn’t fix him in a night.

“Don’t you have a bodyguard or something?” Cas asked. “Or uh… what are they called — handlers?”

“Waiting for me at the hotel. Told ‘em I needed some air.”

Castiel held his arms out. “Well, you got it.”

“Can you help me?” Dean asked.

“You just crashed my car! And you were driving, _drunk_. It’s beyond me why I haven’t called the police on you yet. I don’t even like you!”

Dean’s face fell, crestfallen.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Exactly.” Castiel looked around, and observed himself as well. This tea all over him was super annoying, but he told himself it was just in the moment. It wasn’t a big deal. And his car, well, he could get that fixed. That _was_ a big deal, but he’d already shown anger about that, so it was time to get himself to focus on dealing with it. Coping. That’s what he always taught his patients. He hadn’t reined in his reactions like he should’ve, but he could control what he was doing now. He even tensed and relaxed a few different muscle groups as he stood there, letting his body know he was fine. “But, I can’t just let you be alone like this. You could hurt someone, or uh… someone could hurt you, I guess. You have an address for where you’re staying?”

Dean licked his bottom lip, bit it, and then started digging through his pockets. It took him awhile to find the right pocket, and then to find what he was looking for. He handed Cas a horribly crumpled piece of paper with faded lettering, but he was able to make out the address.

“Uh… my car’s not going anywhere.”

Dean pat the hood of his car. “And I’m not leaving Baby behind. Just let it get towed. We’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

Cas, with keys in hand, looked at the Lincoln Continental. He’d had it forever, had gotten it from his dad, Chuck, who then up and left. It was all he had left of him, aside from some family photos he didn’t like to look at. Could he just leave it like that?

“It’s…”

“Just call a tow company now if you want,” Dean said. “And we’ll be gone before they get here.”

“Insurance is gonna want to look at this,” Cas said, leaning down to get a look at one of the headlights that seemed like it was close to just dangling off.

“No, no!” Dean responded in a panic. “We can’t have that.”

“Don’t you have a guy for this or something?”

“My people don’t want me out. Uh, hold on.”

Dean got out his phone and then walked a distance away before pacing back and forth. Castiel heard him muttering, “Pick up, pick up, pick up!”

Cas didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he was soon able to hear one side of the conversation. He stayed by his car, trying to pat down his clothes with napkins some more.

“Look, I know you told me not to call… No, I’m not at the hotel… And you are?... Come on, I got into a mess… No, a girl is not involved… Uh, maybe a guy?... Okay, look, not in that way. But insurance is gonna be all over this, and I was wondering if you could…?... Yeah, I want you to make it disappear… Well, if you don’t, Zach’s gonna rail me!... Please, for me. I’ll uh, I’ll do anything, even hook you up with someone… Okay, right, duh, you don’t want that. Look, I’ll owe you a favor… Yeah, of course I can follow through with a favor… Just help me out here. I’ll be in serious trouble if you don’t. I’ll give you the details after, alright? Towing company, everything… Yes, it was Dad’s car… No, it’s not _ruined_. The other guy’s car is, and no, he hasn’t called the police… You think he should call the police?... Sam! Ugh, I’ll get back to you tomorrow, and you’re gonna help… Fine… Fine!... Love you, bro. Bye.”

“Who was that?” Castiel asked.

“My brother. He’s gonna clear this up. Call the tow company, and he’ll take care of insurance.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, getting his own phone out, which he realized had gotten spilled with the tea. And it was refusing to work. Great.

“Mine’s… not working,” he admitted. “Can… Can I…?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but held his phone out.

Castiel used it to call, ignoring how it was a much better model than his own, and was running on very high speeds. The battery probably cost more than his month’s salary. It seemed custom made.

He gave him the phone back when he was done, took one last look at his car, and then held his hand out for the keys.

“What?”

“You’re not driving.”

Dean put a hand on the Impala near the wind-shield.

“You’re not touching her.”

Cas put his hands in stuffed, damp pockets, trying to seem nonchalant, but really feeling irritated, tired, and awkward. And the headache from earlier was pounding at him with full force.

“Alright, good luck then.”

Dean grabbed his shoulder as he passed, and Castiel nearly gasped. How had he not realized how nice his hand was before? Wow, that was a gorgeous hand. Cas wondered if his own hands were bigger. For some reason the idea of that made him feel a bit warm.

The rockstar sighed, and then handed him the keys.

“Not a scratch.”

“Promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this mean I'm getting back to posting all my work regularly? No, probably not, but here's the next chapter! (tried posting this before, but AO3 crashed)

Dean sulked in the passenger’s seat, not used to being there. He didn’t even really let Sam drive. But a total stranger was at the wheel now, taking him back to his hotel. Probably for the best. He couldn’t see straight, and he was busy nursing his right hand.

God, what the heck was he doing? What was going on?

Lights and colors seemed to streak by, and he groaned, closing his eyes, leaning his head against the window as nausea took him.

Right, he’d had a lot to drink.

_Thank god,_ he thought.

He couldn’t deal with Zach’s bullshit sober.

Eventually the awful rolling and bumping motions that were shifting his stomach stopped, and there was a hand lightly tapping at his forearm.

He cracked open his eyelids. Nausea flushed through him, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

“Mm?”

“We’re here.”

Dean nodded, instantly regretted that, and then opened the door and spilled out into the parking garage to puke his guts out all over the cement.

“Son of a bitch,” he breathed once his body calmed down.

“This happen often?” the other man asked.

“A stranger watching me puke? Ha ha, funny.”

“My name’s Castiel, by the way.”

He’d come around the car to help Dean up, and he felt reassured in this stranger’s grip. Had he been feeling well enough, maybe…

_No, can’t do that anymore._ _Gotta keep your pants on and your bed neat. Fuck._

“Huh, weird name.”

“Thanks,” Castiel responded, seeming completely deadpan.

“I like it. I’ll call you Cas.”

Cas closed the door, and locked the car, putting the keys back in Dean’s pocket. Was it just him or had his hand felt his torso a bit too much? Dean cracked a smile at him, hoping it gave Cas the idea of what he was thinking about. He didn’t notice.

There was a lot of awkward shuffling, Dean bumping into Cas, and then walls, as they got into the hotel. Dean got up to his room with Cas, and he realized he didn’t know what to do now. He leaned against the door, and Castiel just frowned.

“I’m gonna go in there,” Dean said, “and security’s gonna wonder who you are. You tell them you’re a friend, okay?”

“Can’t I leave?”

Dean laughed. “How are you getting back to your place? You gonna fly, angel?”

Cas gave him an odd look at that, and Dean laughed some more, getting his keycard out before struggling to fit it into the slot. Castiel reached out to help him, but Dean glared him away. Eventually he got it. Thank god.

The door heaved open with him leaning against it, and he almost fell.

Clif, his main bodyguard, a big, bald guy with tattoos, was standing in front of him, arms crossed. Or… maybe he was to the right. Or the left? Three of him. Fun.

“Hey, Clif,” Dean said. “Went out for a bit. Got a friend with me.”

Dean beckoned with his hand, and he felt Cas press close before following him into his suite.

Clif didn’t budge.

“Dean, buddy, you’re a good guy, but you should’ve come straight back here.”

Dean leaned against the wall, cheek pressing against the corner of a picture frame. Ow.

“Needed… needed to clear my head.” He held out his arm in a weak, all-encompassing gesture. “Cas, Clif. Clif… yeah.”

“Hello,” Cas said, not seeming to know what to do in this situation.

Dean peeled himself off the wall, hand against it to help steady himself, and he told his bodyguard. “You can go rest, call it a night. I’m safe.”

“I’m gonna check over your friend anyway.”

Dean nodded and shuffled farther into the suite, collapsing on the perfectly white couch. From his position he could see Clif patting down Cas, and then taking the napkins out of his pocket, eyeing him questioningly.

“You’re all good,” Clif announced.

“Thank… you?”

“Dean, call me if you need anything. I’ll be next door. And I’ll let Ellen know we found you. Can’t just ditch your handlers like that, man.”

Dean knew Clif was saying this from a place of love, and he really liked having Clif around and as his bodyguard, but after the night he’d had, he just held up a middle finger. His bodyguard chuckled, and then he was leaving.

“This is… nice,” Castiel observed.

The suite wasn’t the biggest Dean’d had, but there was a living room area, a TV, a kitchenette, and a separate room for the bedroom where there was a king-sized bed. He’d checked out the bathroom earlier, and it had two separate tubs like he’d requested.

“Garth?” Dean called, flipping over onto his stomach on the couch, hand dangling to the floor. “Garth?!”

“Dean, there’s no one else here.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Can you get that?”

“Sure.”

There were clicks as Cas got the door, and then Dean poked his head up, sure he saw the skinny legs of his assistant. Good, he’d heard him with the security system. He could turn it off, but it was just for safety right now. At least there wasn’t a camera in the bedroom, or one in the bathroom.

“Oh, hi, I’m Garth. You must be Dean’s friend! Nice to meet you.”

Dean laughed as he saw Cas forcibly getting his hand shaken, and he pried himself off the couch, or at least… got himself sitting up.

“Garth!”

Garth walked around Cas now, holding his arms out. “Dean!”

He was suddenly wrapped up in a hug by the wiry man, and he didn’t seem like he ever wanted to let go. Dean shot Cas a look that he hoped said, _Friends. What are you gonna do, right?_

“So what can I do for you, Dean-o?” Garth asked.

Dean wiped a hand over his face, and then answered slowly, hoping the words came out right. “Baths. I need the baths, the after concert ones?”

“I’ll get right on it, buddy.” He took his phone out, tapping out a message. “Room service is gonna be here with a ton of ice real soon.”

“Ice?” Cas asked, gingerly sitting on the far end of the couch from Dean.

“Oh, it’s his after concert recovery routine,” Garth answered for him, already seeming so jovial with Cas. “First he has an ice bath for five to ten minutes, then a hot bath for twenty. Gets him feeling absolutely great again.”

“That’s… good.”

“Sure is! Well, Dean, text me if you need anything else. Oh, and your friend’s name?”

Castiel tried answering, but Dean cut him off, “Cas. His name’s Cas. He’ll be here tonight.”

“Dandy!”

Dean shook his head, an affectionate smile on his face at the sheer ridiculousness and ball of positivity that was Garth.

“What’d you do to your hand there?” his assistant then asked.

“Punched a wall.”

“Dean, what have I told you about getting into fights you can’t win?”

“The wall had it coming.”

“First aid kit’s on the top shelf in the bathroom cabinet. Use it or I’m calling you a nurse.”

“I don’t need a nurse.”

“Okie dokie, then! Get some rest, Dean.”

And then with that, his assistant was off.

“You have a post concert routine?” Castiel eventually asked.

“Yeah,” Dean explained, trying to straighten his back, and figure out exactly where Cas was in his vision. He edged closer to him, hoping that would help his vision and fogged brain somewhat. “Ice for inflammation, heat for relaxation.”

“Ah.”

Even now Dean could feel that he needed all that. He’d gone without it plenty of times to have sex with someone, but now he was aching. And god, he just wanted to go to sleep.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

Cas plucked at his shirt.

“I have tea on me.”

Dean laughed, and then noticed the shirt he was wearing, and that it was much too tight.

“What is with that shirt?” he asked.

“What, it’s one of yours.”

“No, no. It’s… Do you know your shirt size?”

Castiel shrugged. “A friend bought it.”

Dean smirked. “Female friend.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so you say you don’t like me, but you’re wearing a shirt with my name on it. What’s the story there?”

Dean wasn’t even sure if he cared if Cas liked him. Or… maybe he did. How could he _not_ like him? He was fucking Dean Winchester!

“Meg, my friend, she didn’t want to go to your concert alone.”

“So let me guess, she bat her pretty eyelashes, and you couldn’t say no.”

“Not exactly. She was very forceful. I don’t even like your music.”

“Come on.”

“Okay, before tonight I didn’t care.”

“But now…?”

Castiel crossed his arms, seeming to realize he was being interrogated.

“I think you crashing my car lowers my rating. And, you basically kidnapped me.”

“You drove!” Dean pointed out.

“Because I had nowhere else to go.”

Dean chuckled. “You could’ve kidnapped me.”

“Did you _want_ me to kidnap you?”

There was a light knock on the door, an announcement rather than a request, and various room service assistants came in with bags of ice, going into the bathroom to fill his tub.

He shrugged. “Would’ve been fun to play out.”

“Uh… Oh!”

Castiel’s eyes widened as he realized what Dean had just implied, and Dean deepened his smile, staring right into his eyes.

They were pretty eyes, a bright blue. And they looked amazing with his dark hair. God damn it, just Dean’s type.

He licked his bottom lip as he eyed him, but Cas didn’t squirm like he’d anticipated. The other man held his gaze firm. A tingle ran down his body, into his gut at that.

He lost track of time when he was looking at him like that, but eventually room service let him know his baths were ready, and then left.

“Alright, well, uh, you can go through some drawers, find something that fits you for tonight,” Dean told him, standing, and wobbling. Son of a bitch. He steadied himself with the couch. “I’ll be…” He pointed a thumb towards the bathroom. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

_Smooth, Dean,_ he told himself. _Real smooth._

As he went into the bathroom and undressed, not bothering to close the door since he knew no one would dare walk in on him, he thought of how much of an idiot he was. Not just with messing up this night, but how he was messing up with talking to Cas. He had a hot guy with super pink lips and a strong, chiseled jawline in his room, and he didn’t even know how to get him into a bath with him!

How had he gotten so useless?

He winced as he settled himself into the ice bath, and even let out a cry. Okay, yeah, he’d waited too long to do this. He was no longer feeling overheated from his performance, so this was… a lot. Downstairs really didn’t like it either.

_Yeah, that’s hot._

Cas was soon at the doorframe, one of Dean’s shirts held in his hands, and a pair of his sweatpants were hugging his thighs. “Are you…” he began to ask, but broke off, realizing Dean was naked.

Dean settled down more, shivering, but tried to play it cool, resting his arms behind his head, showing off his triceps, shoulders, and chest.

Casiel bowed his head, but otherwise didn’t seem too flustered. Huh. “Are you okay?”

“You seem pretty unfazed at seeing a guy in a bath.”

“After working at a hospital, bodies just become bodies to you. Sometimes I have to keep an eye on patients when they shower.”

“Pervert.”

“Keeping them _safe_ ,” Cas reasoned. “They’ve needed my help before. When people are in a bad place, they’ll try anything to hurt themselves.”

Dean had no response to that, just nodded in what he hoped Cas would take as a thoughtful gesture.

Fuck, his hand was throbbing. Dean took off the bandana and lowered it into the ice water.

“So… you gonna leave?” he eventually asked.

“You didn’t tell me if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

But Dean didn’t tell him to go, and Cas didn’t make any move to do so.

“Alright, have a seat on the counter,” Dean told him. “Start being my therapist or whatever.”

“Am I getting paid?” Cas joked.

“Don’t you have the money I gave you?” Dean reasoned.

“That was for the other thing.”

“Oh, right.”

Cas went over and sat himself down on the counter, rubbing his tea-soaked shirt between his hands, even with it still on his body.

Dean glanced away, but kept him in the corner of his eye.

“Keep changing.”

“Okay.”

There was a flash of skin in his peripheral vision, muscles, a nice, hard, wide body. Or maybe he was imagining it. There was only so much you could see out of the corner of your eye. Mm, but his imagination was liking it either way. Dean pretended to look over too soon accidently, and caught Cas as he was pulling the clean and dry shirt over his head.

It hugged his chest even though Dean wore an extra large because of his shoulders. So they were big in different areas.

“So, the drinking,” Cas hedged. “You do that often?”

“Yeah.”

“Any reason?”

“Lots.”

“That’s fair.”

Dean smiled at him. “You’re the first person who hasn’t gotten mad at me about it.”

“Why would I?”

“‘Cause, it messes me up.”

“You’re not alone. Plenty of people are alc—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay. But you’re not the only one who has urges, who needs help.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s messing up my life?”

Castiel shrugged. “Usually people who drink already had hard lives to begin with. You’re just trying to cope, and you can’t hate yourself for coping. No one taught you how. It’s okay.”

Dean didn’t know why, but he felt himself tearing up, and he turned away.

The timer he set on his phone by the bath went off, and he started getting up. Castiel let out an exclamation, but covered his eyes. Dean dripped cold water as he went to get into the tub with steaming water, but then he was encased in relaxing warmth. He sighed, leaning his head back against the lip of the tub.

“Oh god, that’s good.”

“Can I look?” Castiel asked, as Dean set a new timer on his phone.

“What, you got virgin eyes or something, Mr. I-Have-To-Watch-People-Shower?”

Cas said nothing, but even with his hand over his eyes Dean saw pink in his cheeks.

“No way,” he blurted out. Cas was looking now, slightly averting his gaze, and Dean just stared, mouth agape. “No way. You’re a virgin?”

“That’s too personal.”

“Hey, you were talking to me about how hard my life is, so this shit is just gonna get weird from here.”

Cas sighed, resting his hands down on the counter.

“Fine, yes. I’m a virgin.”

Dean gave a pleased, hearty laugh, and didn’t let up even when Cas began laughing nervously. God, he was cute.

“You’re deflecting,” he eventually stated.

“Maybe, but you’re cute.”

“That’s unprofessional.”

Dean smiled. “What, am I paying you to be my therapist?”

“I’m not certified, so no. I’m just a mental health worker.”

“Then what’s unprofessional? You gonna check me in as a patient?”

Cas just glared down at him from his perch, and Dean was sure he heard a low growl emanating from his chest. Dean pulled his head back at that, surprised, and lowered his hands, pretending he wasn’t covering up the bit of pressure he felt in between his legs. Though, the hot water increased the throbbing in his right hand tenfold. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was going to have to take care of that. But the fact that Cas was turning him on? Wow, that was annoying. 

Cas had better not notice. Not like it was sticking up too much at least.

He cleared his throat, and settled himself down deeper, feeling warm marble against his skin, water lapping at him.

“Alright, so, you have to call your friend or something?”

Castiel gasped. “Meg! I completely forgot.”

Cas dashed out of the room, probably to grab his phone, but then he came back in, realizing it was broken.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Dean said, as he saw Cas smacking it.

He used his thumb print to get into his own phone, and then tossed it to Cas.

“No going through my pictures,” he warned.

“Sure.”

Cas left as he was dialing a number.

“Don’t tell her who you’re with!”

“Don’t want to anyway!”

“Asshole,” Dean muttered. “Ass… hole.”

Yep, that’s what Cas was.

Or was he?


	9. Chapter 9

“Meg, oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” Cas said. “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” she asked, incredulous. “Whose phone is this? Are _you_ okay?”

“There was a little accident,” he explained, walking farther away from the bathroom, towards the kitchenette. He glanced back at the bathroom, the one with a very naked Dean Winchester in it.

God, what was even happening?”

“My car had to get towed. I found someone to stay with.”

“Why didn’t you just come back here?”

“He… He needed some help.”

“Cas, you can’t help everybody who falls into your lap. You’re a mental health worker, not a miracle worker. Besides, you need to save some of that empathy and energy for yourself, your own self care. You know how things get when we don’t take care of ourselves.”

Cas frowned, lying, “I’m… taking care of myself. He just needs help. Uh, I’m calling from his phone. Everything will be okay. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna get yourself killed?”

“What?”

“Well, how serious is his issue?”

“Hmm… Define serious.”

“Cas!”

“He’s drunk. Think he’s an…” Cas realized Dean still might be able to hear him, so he lowered his voice before going on, “alcoholic.”

“You go out for a cup of tea and find yourself an alcoholic. Congrats. Think you’re gonna get paid overtime?”

“Meg!”

“You ditched me.”

“I was just getting tea,” he argued.

“And now you’re with some guy.”

“He’s… cute,” Cas reasoned.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’d never. He’s drunk.”

Castiel was about to add that he didn’t know much about what to do when it came to sex anyway, but Meg had no idea he was a virgin. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed about it, knew it was just a label used to control people, usually women. He had to be at least okay with his body and who he was.

For the most part he was alright with all of that. But Dean’s reaction to finding out he was a virgin had made him feel… strange.

Maybe Castiel didn’t want to be a virgin anymore.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Assbutt.”

“That’s my word,” he argued.

“Alright, Clarence. I’m pissed at you, but goodnight. Be safe.”

“You too.”

They hung up, and Cas went back into the bathroom to give Dean his phone. There was a timer running on it. Had about sixteen minutes left.

His bath. Right, it was for his bath.

“So why did you punch a wall?” Castiel asked as he settled down by the counter again.

“Got angry,” Dean simply answered.

“About?”

Dean waved his hand. “Look, we’ll… Tomorrow. We can talk tomorrow. For now, just… make yourself useful or get out.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow as he looked down at him. “Useful?”

Dean sighed, cheeks red, and he admitted, “I’m not used to bringing a fan back to my hotel and not gettin’ any.”

“I’m not a fan,” Castiel pointed out.

“Right, right. ‘Cause you have a stick up your ass.”

Castiel didn’t feel any hurt from Dean’s words.

“You’re tired, drunk, probably in pain. You don’t mean to be acting like this.”

“How do you know what I mean?”

“You could say I’ve… studied humanity. And there’s good there. So there’s good in you, even if you’re upset now, or trying to throw me off, or hoping you’ll get to use me.”

Dean grumbled, “I don’t use people.”

“Then you didn’t mean what you said to me. Something clearly set you off before we even met. You just have to take care of yourself physically first.”

Castiel left the bathroom to go get something, Dean yelling, “Wait, where are you going?”

After searching through the fridge, he found what he needed, popped the cap, and then went into the bathroom to give it to Dean.

“Here. Drink. It’ll get the alcohol out of your system faster, and you’re probably dehydrated.”

“Water’s boring.”

Castiel stared at him hard, leaning over as he held out the bottle. As he did so he did his best to not glance at Dean’s thighs, or any part of him that was under the water really. What lay there was too tempting. And too confusing. Meg had been right. Castiel needed self care, and just as much as Dean did. He was important too, despite what this rock star might think. Though, now that he was with him, a lot of the arrogance he’d seen on stage had mellowed. Something in Dean just seemed… hurt, angry. It showed in his apple green eyes, with the slight pout on his plump, cupid’s bow lips. And maybe after Castiel left tears would trail down those sharp cheekbones and cut through the makeup he could see now that he was up close. Were those freckles lightly dotting his skin beneath it? No. Didn’t matter. He forced the water closer, realizing Dean wasn’t taking it. That’s what he was here for, not… admiring the view.

“Fine.”

Dean took it, and Castiel was content when he unscrewed the cap and started drinking it. Though, that soon turned into chugging.

“Take it slow.”

Dean grumbled.

“Need help with your hand?”

“I can handle it.”

“Well, there’s only one bed, so I guess I’ll sleep on the couch. Uh… goodnight, Dean.”

Dean raised his swollen right hand in recognition, sipping at the water.

“Night.”

Castiel grabbed some blankets he found from the closet, and pulled them over himself, sinking into the couch. This really wasn’t a bad place to sleep. Somehow this piece of furniture meant for simply sitting around and reading, maybe watching TV, was more comfortable than his bed at home. Even before knowing that, the idea of sleeping on the couch hadn’t daunted him. Castiel had spent many a night shift in a chair that was a few years past its prime. Finding comfort on a couch was easy compared to that.

Before he could process where he was, what he was wearing, who he was with, exhaustion caught up to him and he drifted off.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean had to get up to throw up once or twice in the night, and between all that, he forgot Castiel existed. Sure, he passed his sleeping form with a head of hair that was black in the darkness on his way to the bathroom. But the other man wasn’t nearly as important as his shaking body, and reeling stomach.

Eventually, some time before five A.M., he managed to fall into sleep that wasn’t restless or broken by the after effects of his drunkenness. By the time he fully woke up, the room was dark, the curtains pulled closed so daylight wouldn’t filter through. Dean knew this kind of dark. It was the dark of waking up late. He supposed he didn’t really care. His head hurt, an incessant ache that wouldn’t leave, and his stomach just felt wrong.

He groaned as he rolled over and cracked an eye open.

A bottle of gatorade was on his nightstand, along with two pills of aspirin lying on a tissue.

_Garth._ His incredibly friendly and chipper assistant must’ve done this.

Dean sat up, took the medicine and started drinking the gatorade. It wasn’t till he felt well enough to walk out into the main living quarters of the hotel suite that he remembered another person was there.

Really, it was the back of Castiel’s head that gave it away.

Was the dude seriously still sleeping?

Dean shrugged after some consideration. But what to do with him?

That thought hit him hard, and Dean sat down in a chair across from the part of the couch Castiel was sleeping on, open bottle of half-finished gatorade in his hand.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or so vehemently. He must have because Castiel started from sleep, and then turned his head this way and that, eyes wild. He backed away from Dean. But then there was recognition, and he relaxed, but didn’t seem at all pleased.

Well, Dean could take people not liking him… he hoped.

Why _didn’t_ Cas like him? He knew he’d asked him, but it just didn’t make any fucking sense.

He was Dean Winchester!

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean quipped. “Want me to call Garth and get us some coffee?”

Castiel started righting himself properly, pulling the blanket up into his lap. He ran a hand through his hair, but it was still a mess, and to Dean it looked a lot like sex-hair. God, it looked good on him.

He nodded.

“Yes, I think that will suffice.”

“You got a fancy way of talking.”

Castiel just gave him a look that said… Actually, Dean didn’t really know what it said. In the daylight, Castiel seemed difficult to read. It made Dean uncomfortable. Who was this man?

_And what am I going to do with him?_

This wasn’t like the other times Dean had brought people back to his room, not just because he hadn’t slept with him — which was super weird in this instance — but because he wasn’t allowed to be here. His presence would surely get sniffed out. Crowley could’ve talked to Clif already. Though Dean figured Clif wasn’t working with his manager behind his back. He was _Dean’s_ bodyguard. So maybe even if Clif had gotten a call, he wouldn’t run to tell mommy about Dean and his new friend.

But how to keep his new friend hidden?

It also meant there was the issue of the car as well. Dean would have some money missing, and there were witnesses.

Hell, witnesses?

What was he even thinking like?

It wasn’t like it was a crime scene. Okay, aside from crashing his car into Castiel’s, it wasn’t a crime scene.

But Zachariah could smell the original sin on an otherwise innocent baby fifteen miles off. Dean was screwed, especially with Michael as the head honcho now.

_God damn it!_

Dean’s face must have gone through a lot of transformations because Castiel asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh? Uh, nothing.” He walked back over to his bedroom to go grab his phone, and before he closed the doors behind him said, “Just uh… just gonna call Garth.”

With the doors closed, he took a deep breath, and then ran a hand through his hair.

This was crazy. Not his usual brand of crazy. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even that bad.

But then Dean remembered a beer bottle getting taken out of his hand, remembered Zach’s stern — maybe even angry — face. He remembered what he’d told him. He owned Dean now.

Dean went to the far wall and groaned, hanging his head against it. Really, he wanted to use it to bang his head, but most doctors wouldn’t advise that as a way to relieve his headache.

Dean straightened, closing his eyes.

Was it worth a shot?

No, definitely not.

So Dean got out his phone, and called Garth. He could do the shouting thing he’d done the night before, but in hindsight that had seemed rude. His drunk self obviously hadn’t cared.

“Morning, Dean Bean! Well, hmm… oh no, it’s not noon yet, but cutting it _pretty_ close there. What’s up?”

“Wondering if you could get me and my friend some coffee. And uh, you were in here earlier, right?”

“Was I?”

“Gatorade, aspirin,” Dean added.

“Oh no, silly, that was your friend there. He was up earlier and asked me to pick those things up for you. He grabbed them at the door, brought them to your room himself.”

That had Dean pause in what he was about to say.

Cas had done that? He’d thought about him?

That started to make Dean feel guilty for practically kidnapping the guy. Or had it been the other way around? _He’d_ been the drunk one after all. Huh, how _did_ that work? There was another emotion there too, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was pretty foreign to him, or had been in the couple of years since he’d left Ben. Was it… affection?

No, that would be bullshit. He’d just met the guy last night, and part of him still wanted to sleep with him. This was just a messed up situation.

“Dean-o? De-ean!”

“Hmm, what? Yeah.”

“You all good?”

“Yeah, um… Coffee. You know the regular I like, and for him, just make sure to bring packets of sugar and cream and stuff, I don’t really know what he likes.”

“Okie dokie. See you in ten.”

“Five?”

“Dean, I don’t control the pace at which the world runs.”

“Okay, ten,” he relented. “And, oh, is Sam up?”

“I’m not his assistant too, Dean. 

“Okay, but he’s famous by association. I know you and Clif keep tabs on him when he’s not staying underground.”

“Yes, he’s up.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Despite feeling like shit, Dean took the opportunity of some private time to get dressed. Nothing fancy. For him nothing fancy stil came out to a thousand dollars or more per outfit, but it was just jeans, a black undershirt, a white and blue flannel, and a leather jacket. The boots were nice too. Custom-made combat boots with gold inlays.

“Great, now I feel underdressed,” Castiel said as Dean walked back into the room.

“Uh… I have some jeans,” he told him, plopping down on the couch beside his… whatever he was.

Cas made a face. “Not sure they’d fit.”

Dean smiled, glancing at Cas’ hips and legs. He whacked him playfully on the thigh. “Come on, you should be able to squeeze those into a pair. Not like you’re fat. You’re just…” Dean couldn’t think of the word, and trailed off. Thick, muscular, large, beautiful. Yeah, all of that. Fuck. “Yeah, body’s shaped differently. But come on, I can get my bowlegs into these, you should be fine.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed, brushing Dean’s hand off of his leg.

“Fine.”

“Bottom drawer,” Dean said helpfully as Castiel went into his room.

Part of Dean wanted to follow him, wanted to watch him take off those sweatpants, or maybe even take them off for him. The jeans he was wearing were ripped at the knees, but he figured the skin of his knees would be fine with a bit of friction on the floor. Rugburn didn’t hurt too badly, not as bad as his hand still did. At least he’d somehow managed to get that taped and bandaged up. There was an ace wrap around it as well. So he was still able to function, use it for _some_ things, just not all the sexy things going through his head at the moment.

Dean was drawn from his sensual reverie as there was a knock on the door. He went and answered it, apprehensive, gut twisting.

This was it.

Crowley knew. Zach knew. He was going to lose his dream, everything.

Dean sighed in relief, leaning against the open door when he saw it was just Sam. He was dressed in dress pants, a white button-up shirt, and a tie. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. In one hand was a yellow legal pad, a pen pressed between that and the crook of his thumb.

“What, you lawyering today or something?” Dean asked.

“Yes. The contract’s going to be sent over, and we have business to discuss apparently.”

Dean just stared at him, contemplating slamming the door in his face. Reality was not fun right now. He glanced back at his gatorade he’d left on the coffee table. Was there anyone around who could pull a Jesus and turn it into alcohol? Huh, maybe Sam. He had the look, what with the scruff and the hair and all.

Eventually Sam said, “Morning. Or…” He held up his wrist, looking at his watch. “Actually, no. Good afternoon.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and then let Sam in.

“Thanks for coming,” he eventually said, relenting, knowing it wasn’t his brother’s fault that any of this was happening.

But shit, he’d forgotten about the contract.

“You want anything to drink?” Dean asked, playing the gracious host.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Dean settled back down on the couch with his gatorade, and Sam eyed the blanket, taking a seat away from it.

Dean ignored the look, though he surely wanted answers. “So who’s dropping off the contract?”

“Don’t know.”

“When’ll they be here?”

“One.”

Dean sighed at that. Okay, he had some time to get Cas out of his hair.

A drawer slammed shut, and there was some cursing. Sam straightened, looking at the doors to Dean’s bedroom.

“Who else is here?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “A friend.”

Sam looked at Dean, then back at the doors, then Dean again.

“Is it that guy from last night? Dean, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

Sam’s eyebrows, which had been furrowed with concern, now rose in a disbelieving look.

“He’s getting dressed. You can ask him yourself when he comes out. But” — Dean broke up his speech with a long swallow of gatorade — “I need to get rid of him somehow. Or, I don’t know, hide him. I kinda like having him around.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—”

“Like I said, I didn’t.”

“And okay, then what about the issue from last night? What exactly am I risking my license for today?”

“Car accident.”

“Are you serious?!”

That was when Castiel slid open the doors and walked back into the room. Dean noticed that the knuckles of his right hand were red, like they’d gotten slammed in a drawer. That must’ve been what had happened.

“Uh…”

That was Castiel, and Sam was already being business-like, getting up and going over to shake his hand.

“Sam Winchester,” he said. “And you are? I didn’t get your name from Dean yet.”

“Castiel,” he said, and then added, “uh… Novak.”

“So what’s the situation?” Sam asked.

The poor guy looked like a deer caught in headlights, so Dean went over and grabbed him, having him sit beside him. He couldn’t tell if Castiel liked that or not; he seemed neutral about it more than anything. Dean was far from neutral. He’d gotten a good look at Castiel in his jeans, and god, had it been a mistake to tell him he’d fit? He didn’t exactly, but wow, he looked damn good. The material hugged his body, and somewhere in Dean started pulsing as he eyed the unmistakable bulge of his denim-wrapped groin. Dean figured if Cas turned around he’d see the clothing hug his ass too, just like it did in the front and to his thighs.

Dean eyed him even as they sat together. He hadn’t noticed he’d drifted off and started biting on his bottom lip, till he heard Castiel talking about what had happened.

Thank god he was taking the lead. Dean still had a headache.

He zoned out till Garth arrived with the coffee, and as he started back over, Sam reprimanded, “You were supposed to come right back to the hotel.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” he snapped. 

He passed Castiel his coffee and packets of cream and sugar and sat back down. Dean had a sip of his own coffee, and saw Cas start preparing his the way he liked it.

Sam just breathed deeply and gave Dean a sympathetic look. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Dean, or-or… control you like what everyone else wants to do. I just want you to be careful. I know how much your music means to you.”

Dean argued, “Think having my own life is pretty important too.”

“That’s not what—”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Castiel asked. “What’s happening?”

Sam and Dean immediately shut up, and Dean turned to Cas with big eyes. Shit, he hadn’t meant for any of this to come up around him. They were just supposed to talk about Castiel’s car and the insurance company.

“Not important,” he eventually said.

Castiel didn’t just shrug it off as he expected. Instead, the strange man gave him a look that seemed to say a million things at once: _I understand. I’m here if you need to talk. You’re not alone._

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at that handsome face and into those startlingly blue eyes.

How the hell could he do that?

Sam cleared his throat, and both turned back to him.

“We can discuss it later,” Sam said. “And uh… Castiel, I’m not sure how good of a friend of my brother’s you are. I—”

Cas: “Oh, we just met last night. When he crashed his car into mine.”

Sam gave a tight smile, “Lovely.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at the tension he saw in Sam, but he didn’t. His brother was doing a big thing for him. Dean could at least repay him by not being an asshole for a couple of minutes.

The discussion was exhausting, but they eventually got it all sorted out, Sam taking notes on his yellow legal pad, and after a few Sam-dominated phone calls with various people and insurance agents, it was all settled.

_And_ according to his watch it was one P.M.

Fuck.

There was a knock on the door.

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed Cas in a panic, while another hand reached out for his brother, as if he wanted to grab him to hide behind.

“Shit, shit. Cas, you gotta go.”

“Go where? I can’t leave, unless you have any ideas as to how I could survive the drop from the window.”

Dean got him up, pushing him over to the bedroom. “Bedroom,” he urged. “ _Stay quiet._ ”

Sam was going to get the door.

Dean tried sliding the bedroom doors closed, but Castiel held on just before they were about to obscure his face.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Let you out soon, and uh… maybe get in the closet?”

“The closet? Dean!”

Footsteps sounded. Dean closed the doors, and then turned. He fixed his outfit, making it look like he’d just come out of his room from getting dressed and was straightening his clothes.

The man who had arrived was wearing white dress shoes. It was the first thing Dean noticed, and as his gaze traveled upwards, he stopped dead.

“Mr. Edlund.”

The dark-haired man with glimmering blue eyes who held a thick packet of papers smiled. “Please, call me Michael.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I can't even remember all that's been happening. A lot. Boyfriend visiting, family drama/abuse, sickness, covid-19 testing, cats fighting each other, finishing up other stories, the fucking finale and the Destiel drama... It's been a lot. I'm so excited to give you guys this chapter.
> 
>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains abuse from the industry.

Castiel didn’t go hide in the closet. No, he was _not_ going to do that. He wasn’t some teenage boy who’d snuck into his boyfriend’s room and now had to hide because their dad was checking up on them. And he certainly wasn’t going to treat the situation that way.

But Dean was anxious. He had had a slight flush to his cheeks, had seemed to be breathing with his mouth open a bit more.

So Castiel listened to him for now until things could get explained.

He stayed in the bedroom, away from the doors in case his silhouette would be seen. But he stayed close enough to listen in.

Castiel didn’t even stop to ask himself _why_ he was listening in, or if he actually wanted to stick around after to figure out just what the hell Dean Winchester had gotten himself into.

He just listened.

“Michael, wow,” Dean’s voice came from the other side of the door, growing quieter as he walked away. “I can’t believe I actually get to meet you, the Archangel of Music.”

An easy laugh left the other man, and Castiel decided he did not like it. It wasn’t dread that he felt, knowing this wasn’t his situation to deal with, but there was something off about that laugh, like it had been practiced. What kind of person needed to practice a laugh? In Castiel’s mind, that just spoke of someone being either nervous or maliciously in power. He knew it wasn’t the first option.

“Can’t believe they call me that,” he said. “No need for any of that here. I just wanted to see you with my own eyes. I’ve heard about you non-stop since I joined with Zachariah. You wouldn’t believe the praise he has for you.”

Dean sounded cautious and disbelieving when he said, “Oh, really?”

“Now that I see you, it’s like you’re practically made for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“To work for me. Perfect rock star image, and your music is just genius.”

“Oh, uh… thank you.”

Sam cleared his throat — he seemed to do that a lot when he was uncomfortable — and then asked, “Uh, can we get you anything? A drink?”

“No need. I sent my assistant out to get me a cucumber mint lemonade. All the rage a few months ago with some of my other friends, and I still just can’t get enough.”

The way Michael had said _other friends_ made it sound as if Dean was already his friend too. There was a sense of forced ownership there. Listening to it made Castiel feel uneasy. This was bordering on abuse. Maybe it already was and he just didn’t know how deep it went.

Did all celebrities live like this? Were they all abused by the industry?

God, it’d make sense.

“Oh, those are good,” Sam said, breaking the silence that Dean had seemed expected to fill. “You try any of those kale smoothies?”

There was a quiet sound of displeasure. “Kale’s uneasy on my stomach. You get me, right, Dean?”

“Uh… um… yeah. Yeah. So that the contract?” he asked.

“Sure is. Details what you can do and what you can’t do, what work we expect from you, and your increased pay.”

There was a shuffling of papers.

“So you’re saying I actually _can_ do stuff?”

“Of course,” Michael replied, his tone suggesting Dean’s question had been absurd. Castiel didn’t buy it. “I don’t know what Zachariah told you—”

Dean’s tone was low, dangerous, as he said, “Oh, he told me _plenty._ ”

There was silence, but it was dripping with tension. Castiel wished he could peek his head out the door and see what was happening, observe the body language.

“I don’t know what kind of sick fetish you have,” Dean went on, “but I’m not one of your other toys. You don’t own me.”

“So you won’t sign it?” That laugh again. “Come now, Dean, you’re not a toy. Think of it as you being my vessel. I use you to give the people what they want. I reside over them as an… archangel. You get it?”

“So you’re gonna use me and live through me?”

“That’s a harsh way of putting it.”

“It’s a harsh way to do business.”

“Fine. Then you don’t want to make music?”

“You know that’s not what—”

“He’ll sign it,” Sam said, cutting Dean off.

“He telling the truth?” Michael asked. “You want to sign it, or is that just him speaking for you?”

Dean’s voice was a rough growl as he said, resigned, “I’ll sign it.”

“Excellent. End of the day, alright, Dean?”

There was a noise, a grumbling of assent, and then Michael was making his farewells.

After the door closed something banged against it. That might’ve either been Dean’s fist or his head.

“How is this legal?” he asked.

Sam offered, “You want me to do some digging?”

“I don’t know. Whatever.” Then he called, “Cas, it’s safe to come out! The evil overlord is gone.”

Castiel tentatively left the bedroom, feeling as if there’d been a weight against the doors. The air out there seemed heavier, laced with tension. A part of him hadn’t wanted to come out. But he did.

Dean slammed a packet of papers down on the counter.

“Cas, come on. We’re going for a drive.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Sam countered.

Dean brushed past Castiel to go into his room and get his keys.

When Castiel looked back at him, he was shrugging.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “Maybe I should get back.”

“No, I got you into this mess, I can at least try and make up for it. Come on, we can do whatever you want: stop for lunch, get some drinks, uh… whatever else people like to do for fun.”

“Dean—“

“Calm down, Sam. We’ll both wear hats and sunglasses. No one will know.”

Dean shuffled through a drawer, put a hat and sunglasses on, and then came over to do the same to Cas. A darkly-tinted Dean beamed at him as Castiel pushed the sunglasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

Castiel strangely found himself wanting to agree to all this. He even wanted to find out more about him, what made him tick, what the contract was about, who Michael was, why Sam was trying to have him be careful.

But Meg…

He’d gone with her to Kansas City. He couldn’t possibly go traipsing around it while knowing she was on her own. What kind of friend would that make him?

“I’ll have to talk to my friend,” Castiel said. Dean’s face began to fall and he added on, “Before we go out. Besides, you promised me a new phone.”

He’d meant the last sentence to be joking, if it needed to be, but Dean took it in stride.

“I sure did.”

Dean took Castiel by the elbow, which startled Cas, but after last night, he supposed their barrier for intimacy had already come down. He had Cas start walking with him to the door.

“Dean, I don’t know what I can do if Crowley or Zach hear about this.”

Dean said to his brother, “Then do something now. Go figure out what the hell is up with that thing they want signed with my blood. Alright, Cas. Let’s go.”

Tension seemed to bleed out of Dean once they left the room, and the celebrity just stood there, taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, not sure what he would even do if Dean was honest with his answer. What could he do? What was even appropriate?

Dean ignored him, just started talking about their plans. Castiel let him do it for now, knowing that Dean Winchester wasn’t a good person to push. Besides, if Castiel was in a situation that seemed as abusive as that, he wouldn’t want to open up to some stranger he’d met the night before.

“So, how about I get you that new phone, then we check on the car, maybe get some lunch after.”

Castiel just looked at him, questioning, wondering. Why was Dean doing this for him? Was it a sense of guilt? Should Castiel just decide to not go through with this?

Was he just a distraction?

The answer to that was something that would probably hurt under deeper scrutiny, but he decided to ignore it, his curiosity and need to help getting the best of him. Besides, Castiel was interested in other people and how their minds worked. Seeing the mind of a celebrity was something any mental health professional would surely kill for. There weren’t any books for this stuff. It was new territory, and territory that his field certainly didn’t talk about.

Besides, it wasn’t every day that a cute guy asked him out to lunch.

 _Really?_ he chided himself. _That’s what’s important to you?_

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, noting Cas’ silence as they walked through the halls to the elevator towards the back of the building.

“Nothing,” Castiel lied.

He wasn’t about to tell Dean his thoughts, even if they had talked so openly the night before. Why should he tell Dean his thoughts? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t ignoring Cas’ questions either.

Once they were in the elevator, Castiel asked, “Do you usually do this?” Dean just raised his eyebrows in question, and Cas swallowed roughly at that look. He suddenly regretted asking him that while they were in an elevator. It was large, as far as elevators went, but it still managed to keep them close to each other. Maybe too close.. “Go out with fans,” he eventually clarified after clearing his throat.

Dean grinned, and there was a rogue-ish light in his apple green eyes, matching his smile.

“Are you admitting you’re a fan?”

“No.” Dean chuckled at Castiel’s words. “Definitely not,” Castiel went on.

“Denial!” Dean sang.

Castiel just blushed, not sure how to handle this situation.

“I’m gonna make you a fan,” Dean said.

The elevator _ding_ ed! They were on the ground floor. The doors slid open with hardly a sound, and then Dean was taking Castiel out through one of the back doors to the parking garage.

“Why is me being a fan so important to you?”

Dean just turned, studying him. Their eyes met, and Castiel tried to read what was in those beautiful green depths. But he couldn’t. Dean wasn’t an open book, and though Castiel knew people from an outside perspective, he wasn’t sure what was going on here.

One side of Dean’s mouth turned down in a frown.

“I don’t know,” he eventually responded. “Come on. We should hurry. I don’t want to be seen.”

“What’ll happen if you are?”

“You really want to talk about that?”

“Do you want to talk about it? You seem incredibly on edge, stressed…”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Phil.”

They hurried through the dark shadows of the garage, and Castiel was wondering how the hell Dean was fine seeing with those dark sunglasses on. He nearly tripped over his own feet, yet Dean was walking as smoothly as ever.

They made it to his Impala, and Castiel stared at the vehicle before getting in. Anger began to boil in his stomach at the fact that Dean’s car was fine, and Castiel’s wasn’t. They’d have to pick up his car, make sure it got the repairs it needed.

Castiel slid into the passenger’s side, Dean already in the driver’s seat. He put the key in the ignition, and twisted it. The Impala started purring and rumbling beneath them. As far as the sounds cars made were concerned, this one could almost be described as soothing.

“You won’t be spotted in this?” Castiel asked as Dean started pulling out of the parking space.

“Only the rabid fans know I drive it,” Dean said.

“And what about…” Castiel didn’t know how to ask, so he trailed off.

They were making their way out onto the busy streets.

“What about what? Spit it out, Cas.”

“Michael, that man he mentioned, Zachariah — I’m assuming they know what kind of car you drive. And Michael sounded… pretty serious” — _nice understatement, Cas_ — “so I just want to know if you’ll be okay. You didn’t take your bodyguard with you either.”

Dean sighed, as if he didn’t really want to talk about it, but then he opened his mouth to explain, “I didn’t take Clif with me because then my manager, or whoever else has their ears to the ground, will know for sure that I’m out and about.”

“You make it sound as if they intend to keep you as a prisoner.”

Dean shook his head, face furrowing, growing serious. His jaw clenched. “It sure as hell feels that way.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started writing it, had a breakdown, bon appetit.

Dean was glad to be sitting in the Impala, to feel its purr beneath him, to hear the rumbling of the engine, to feel the leather wheel against his palms. It was better than staying up in that bright hotel room where he’d been told he was made for Michael.

_ Made for Michael,  _ he mused.  _ What the fuck does that mean? Asshole. _

The tension still resided in him, and he figured if — no,  _ when _ — he went out to lunch with Cas he’d maybe have a little to drink. Not as much as last night. He hd to promise himself that. He didn’t need another repeat of that, and public drunkenness was probably the kind of shit Michael, and Zachariah didn’t want him doing anyway.

Castiel was looking at him, as if he was hurt, cerulean blue eyes so big. Dean didn’t like it. It reminded him of pity. It wasn’t a pitying look, per se, but it sure as hell seemed close.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“They’re allowed to do this to you?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean answered honestly. “They think they can. Sam’s gonna help. But I can’t do anything right now. I just… I just need this time out, Cas. And I want to make up for last night. I was an ass.”

“You were drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t an ass.”

“But—”

“Cas, I’m trying to apologize to you,” Dean intoned.

Castiel’s cheeks went a little pink, and Dean couldn’t help staring. They were at a crowded intersection, and would surely be left at the right light for awhile, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t get away with it.

Someone behind him honked their horn, drawing him from his reverie. How long had he been looking him over? Looking at those pink cheeks, the full, pink lips, the sharp jawline. Dean’s gaze had also gone to his thighs. And as he’d looked at Castiel, Castiel had looked at him.

_ Focus on the road, _ he told himself. He made the turn, and continued driving.

“Then I accept your apology,” Castiel eventually said.

“Good.”

“And not because you have money, or your’e some big name celebrity.”

“Right.”

Why was Castiel making a point to say that? Did he think he was entitled?

_ Maybe I am. _

“Because you’re actually trying to be human.”

Dean’s gaze hardened, heat flaring.

“What, so you think I’m not human?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Uh, buddy, yeah, you did.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I did say it,” Castiel snapped. “But I mean, look at you. Your outfit costs more than my rent, your brother is famous by association and also your lawyer, you have Garth at your beck and call. That’s not… normal.”

Dean gave him a cocky grin. “Thanks, it’s called being rich and famous.”

Castiel only sighed at that and sank down in the seat.

“You know, we don’t have to do this,” Dean went on. “I can take you to get that phone, make sure your car gets fixed, and then drop you off wherever you want. You have that friend, right? What’s her name?”

“Meg.”

“Meg, that’s right! Seriously though, man. If this is bothering you—”

Quick as an adder, Castiel shot out, “It’s not.”

“Then what’s your deal?”

“What’s  _ your _ deal?”

“You know what? No, we’re not gonna argue like this. We’re not a couple o’ twelve year olds.”

Castiel grinned.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Dean, you seem pretty immature.”

“Are you… are you teasing me?”

Castiel’s brows lowered, suddenly all serious. “Yes.”

Dean started laughing, and it felt good. It felt so good that he didn’t feel as if he had to do anything else in that moment. For those few moments he wasn’t thinking about the contract, wasn’t hoping his headache would go away soon, wasn’t thinking about how much he wanted to punch Michael in his stupidly gorgeous face. And he wasn’t thinking about how strange his situation with Cas was, or what he yearned to do with him. There were no worries about where this would lead, about maybe ending up hurt and disappointed. He just laughed.

Castiel laughed too.

“There we go!” Dean said. “Knew you couldn’t be such a hard-ass all the time.”

“Thanks.”

To Dean’s surprise, Castiel seemed to mean it sincerely. He inwardly shrugged. If that’s how Cas wanted to take it, that worked too. Besides, Dean was realizing he was starting to like Castiel’s reactions, even if he wasn’t so sure he liked what it did to him.

“Tell me about yourself,” Dean requested.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t want to take a total stranger out to lunch.”

Castiel seemed to think that was reasonable as he asked, “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, whatever you want to tell me,” Dean said with a shrug. “Favorite color, favorite movie, where you went to college… that kind of stuff.”

So Castiel began to tell him, and Dean took note of everything. By the time they made it to an electronics store, he knew his favorite color (green), knew his favorite movie ( _ A New Hope _ ), knew his favorite book ( _ The Dresden Files _ by Jim Butcher [Dean had had to try really hard to not seem so shocked]), knew his favorite food (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches)... He listened to him talk about his college experience, what he’d majored in. Dean was happy to hear it all. By the time they pulled up to the store, Dean didn’t want the conversation to end.

He rifled through his pockets, grabbed his wallet, and then started flipping through the bills he had in there, counting.

After coming up with what he thought would be a sufficient amount, he passed the money to Castiel.

“Alright, kid, go have fun,” Dean teased.

“Ass.”

“You’re an ass.”

“This is too much,” Castiel said.

“Just take it. I’ll wait out here.”

“Will anyone see you?”

Dean lowered his hat over his brow. Castiel just raised an eyebrow in what Dean thought might be a disbelieving look, but then he took the money Dean offered, and got out of the car. The door creaked as it opened and closed. Dean knew he should oil the hinges, but that sound? That sound felt like home.

He tried not to stare as Castiel walked away, but oh god, Dean would be lying if he said that his new friend or whatever he was didn’t have one hell of a nice ass.

Guilt tugged at his stomach.

Castiel had helped him last night, helped him when he hadn’t even known how to help himself. He shouldn’t be looking at him like that, thinking about him like that.

“You are an ass,” Dean muttered to himself, agreeing with Cas.

Still, even as he tried to veer his thoughts away from what he wished he could do with him, they just kept burning in his brain.

Dean tried to rationalize it, tried to logic his way out of the thoughts.  _ No, you can’t do that. One, he’s being nice to you and you don’t want to fuck that up. Two, he’s a virgin and probably isn’t interested. Three, you don’t even like virgins! Four, if Zachariah or Michael found out, maybe even Crowley, they’d have it out for your ass. _

The logic made sense. It really did. Yet, his emotions didn’t listen to it.

Suddenly frustrated, and a little angry with himself, Dean leaned over to look through the glove compartment on Castiel’s side. His cassette tape collection was in there. Hell, he knew cassette tapes were outdated, but they were classic. How could he not love them?

Dean found a Led Zeppelin tape that he loved, and he popped it into the tape deck. He put the volume just loud enough for him to hear, and listened to one of his greatest inspirations while he waited for Castiel.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing? I don't know her.

Getting the phone was quicker than Castiel had thought it would be, but it still took awhile. He kept turning back to look out the large glass windows at the front, seeing Dean parked outside. By the time Castiel did have his phone and was already putting Meg’s number in his contacts, Dean was pretending to use the steering wheel as a drum, his hands holding imaginary drumsticks. He mouth was moving, head rocking in time with whatever music he was listening to. And then, of all things, Dean Winchester, rock star, musical god and genius, started playing air guitar.

Castiel was inclined to just stand there and watch all day. Dean didn’t know he was watching, and assumed no one else was. It was just him, and the music, and his car, and he was… well, he was being himself.

This was who Dean Winchester was, Castiel realized. He was a music-lover, a dork, someone with a lot of energy, and just wanted to have fun. And it was sincere, sweet, even. The Dean Winchester that Castiel saw now was the Dean Winchester he realized he liked.

Though, he knew he had to ruin the moment. It couldn’t last forever.

A wistful sigh left Castiel as he made his way back over to the Impala.

Dean straightened, and immediately paused upon Castiel opening the door. He turned down the music.

“Everything work out?”

Castiel held up his new phone in answer.

“Good. Now let’s go take care of your car.” Dean sucked on his bottom lip, seeming pleased with himself. “We are getting shit done!” he announced.

Yes, Castiel’s assessment of Dean being a dork seemed possibly correct here too.

As Dean pulled away from the curb, Castiel called Meg. To his relief, she answered.

“Hey, Meg, sorry, I had to get a new phone.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re not here.”

“Uh… the guy I was, uh…” Castiel trailed off, glancing at Dean. Could he say he’d been with him? Would it sound like he’d been  _ with him _ with him? “The guy I was with last night, he wanted to drive me around for a bit.”

Meg sighed. “Cas, this is why I can’t let you out of my sight. You’re like a lost puppy.”

“Puppies are cute,” he reasoned.

“To a point. Sometimes their stupidity gets tiring.”

Castiel frowned, hurt. “Meg, I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know, I don’t want to miss this opportunity. And, me and you had fun at the concert last night, right?”

Silence.

“Right?” Castiel repeated.

“Yeah, we did. I just don’t like this situation, Cas.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why can’t you guys swing by and pick me up?”

Castiel’s face went slack, and he turned to Dean.

Unsure of what to say, totally startled, Castiel’s next words came out without a though, “Let me put you on hold.”

He muted the phone, and then turned to Dean.

“Oh shit, what’s that look mean?” Dean asked.

“Meg wants to join us. She feels left out.”

Dean shook his head immediately, body rigid. “No,” he responded adamantly. “Just you is bad enough. The fewer people know about this, the better.”

“Then what do I tell her?”

“I don’t know, she’s your friend.”

“Who’s upset because of this mess I got into with you.”

“Then…” Dean sighed. “Tell her you’ll be back after you get your car fixed. We don’t…” Disappointment welled up in Dean’s eyes. “We don’t have to do lunch.”

Castiel looked at him, heart pounding too powerfully. The look on Dean’s face, the utter disappointment, the resignation… Castiel hated that he was the reason for it.

“Maybe we can go out tomorrow,” he reasoned.

“I’m out of here by tomorrow,” Dean answered.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Heavy silence fell, and it was soon punctuated by Meg calling to Castiel through the phone. He took one last look at Dean, at the way he was so clearly avoiding looking at him, and he unmuted.

“I have to get my car fixed, which shouldn’t take too long, and then I’ll make it back to you.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, soon.” Another glance at Dean. His jaw was clenched so tightly Castiel wasn’t sure how his teeth weren’t cracking.  _ I did this, _ he thought. Yet, someone else’s emotions didn’t have to be his responsibility. Castiel had to take care of himself too. And Dean was… Dean was  _ Dean _ . This entire meeting had been unprecedented, and probably just a fluke in the workings of the universe. It wasn’t ever going to be something that could last. So the fact that it was ending before it really began, it should’ve been a relief. This way, it didn’t have to hurt so much.

But it did hurt.

For some reason there was this painful tugging in his chest, as if it was begging him for what could’ve been. Castiel didn’t even know what that was, what they even were now. Still, that didn’t stop it from hurt, any of it.

“Miss you, Meg,” Castiel eventually said. “See you soon.”

She said her goodbye, and hung up. Castiel put his phone in his pocket, and avoided looking at Dean. The rumbling of the Impala’s engine was too loud in the silence.


End file.
